


Sector Zero

by ea-stofnar (SinsofYouth)



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space Opera, Are we really shocked by that?, Ianto owns his own company, Jack is a little bit of a slut, Kidnapping, M/M, Not Insta-Romance, Not Push-Over Ianto, Space Opera
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 07:58:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5240657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinsofYouth/pseuds/ea-stofnar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto Jones was a man in charge of his destiny; until destiny kidnapped him, took him to edge of the galaxy and told him its name was now Jack Harkness. Why is it that the hottest guys are the ones trying to kill you?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sector Zero

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Torchwood or any characters associated with that universe. This story is for fun and practice, not a declaration of ownership. I also don't have any money, so if you decide to sue me; joke's on you.

Sector Zero, Hapeis Gamma Cluster, Bicquda Galaxy  
Planet designation: PAX-34122AG-9: Enova

 

“Sir, your inter-stellar conference feed is going live in three minutes. Also, we just received a communiqué from the Enovaan Sovereign; he wants to have a word with you at your convenience the next light rotation. He also said you'd know why. 

The woman was sharp and neat. Her respectable three inch heels clicked smartly against the polished marble as she walked next to her employer, offering him a holopad with several bookmarked data-feeds and figures.

‘The report on Sector Three just came in, operations on Gemini are 13% above initial projections.” 

The man walking briskly by her side said nothing, but his eyes scanned the holo-pad she'd handed to him, taking in the trending stats and figures.

“Sector Four spice sales are down 2% this quarter.” She continued, indicating the correct column of numbers on the pad. “Some local lawsuits were filed for faulty package seals and possible product contamination. A team has been dispatched to investigate. Investment Brokerages are up in Sectors Zero through Three; down in Four, up in Five and Six, down in Seven.”

“How are we doing on the response to LynnTech’s iFriend device?” Her employer’s voice was full and round, with just a hint of an old Earth accent from a sovereignty once known as Wales. She knew a good many aliens who found the lilt disarming and sexy; an advantage when negotiating. Probably the only reason he kept it.

They rounded a corner and entered a long stretch of hall. The conference room was at the end. She began wrapping up the brief. 

“Development team 1337GP-5 is working on a system called GigaFriend. The prototypes they’ve sent up are quite promising; offering a holographic VI programed to respond to over a thousand voice commands. Its holographic interface is completely portable and it can take on more than 500,000 customizable features, a 6% improvement on the Shaaki-Group equivalent.”

“How soon can we start Beta testing?”

“I’ll have our prototypes sent to production. And I’ll send a memo to Marketing to look for a few groups once the factories give us something to hand out. I’d estimate we can have the product in-hand by the end of the week.”

“Acceptable. Now, who am I talking to?”

They were only a few dozen steps from the conference room doors. She didn’t miss a beat. “Gal-Hiroak of Kinshew Group, Marakk representing Exo-Corp, Vodo-Sias-Baas from Mill Enterprising Conglomerate, Forensk representing Huuse Unlimited.” She read a half-dozen more, but kept the list paired down to the important ones. The rest were small time, who didn’t have the assets to make deals with Capital Corps. 

They stopped in front of the doors and she had time to actually look at her boss for the first time that day, not just glances from the corner of her eye. The man looked exhausted.

“Sir,” She hesitated. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you look like you could use some rest. Why don’t you go home? There’s still 178 hours before the buy-out. You...shouldn’t spend all of them here.”

Her boss caught her furtive gaze and gave her a small smile. It barely lifted the corners of his ample mouth, but it was enough to tell her the thought was appreciated.

He was probably going to ignore it, but her concern had been noted and filed in the correct folder in his brain.

“Go home. You’ve done a good job today.” His tone was kind, but firm; which meant further argument was pointless, at least until tomorrow.

She sighed and accepted the Holo-pad from him before bowing slightly and moving back down the way they had come. 

“At least try and get some sleep, sir.”

She heard the doors slide closed behind her and shook her head.

One of these days, Ianto Jones, CEO of Capital Corp. was going to regret not going home when he had the chance. She just hoped it was before he dropped dead from exhaustion.

 

.:xXXx:.

 

The phlang of alien Standard, a hundred faces staring back at him, the rush of fast-paced trades, the heat of aggression and the façade of decorum; they mixed together into a brew more addictive than any drug in the universe.

Ianto didn’t smile. He knew better when he was broadcasting. He’d learned early to school his features completely unless he was talking to a single being specifically and in private. Too often one discovered too late the most inoffensive gesture for Human’s was the Earth equivalent to suggesting he’d fucked an individual’s mother. Ianto wasn’t a man who made such mistakes.

Ianto redirected his attention to a Sullis mining corps Foreman and tilted his head in greeting. The creature snubbed him directly, turning his piggy snout downward in what was meant to be a politely insulting fashion. Ianto moved his attention to the next potential. 

He’d expected some beings to display some ill-favor towards him, especially since the board had announced the buy-out of Fuuzon Corp. yesterday. No one liked it when their competition grew. Very few of his competitor companies had liked him even before the take-over, but he’d done what he could to remain on civil terms with a few of the more powerful of them. He didn’t concern himself with the rest.

The smart ones knew they’d have to deal with him no matter their personal dislike. Because he was powerful. Power meant expansion, expansion, if done well, meant consuming foreign operations, other businesses would be edged out and maybe, left in the cold. Of course, that all depended on their level of cooperation. Ianto never forced his competition into poverty. Any deals he made were mutually beneficial. He provided for comfortable retirement and they provided whatever it was they possessed and he needed. 

If whomever he was dealing with wanted to stay in business, then they should have played smarter. It was as simple as that.

He managed to tentatively broker three new production contracts and five private holo conferences for later that week; which was abysmal for the number of creatures with which he was speaking. Apparently he’d made a few enemies with the Fuuzon deal.

By the time the last interface winked out, it was well into the planets dark hours. Ianto yawned and stood. He stretched as he made his way back to his office, trying to feel like he’d actually accomplished something. 

It was murder trying to find a time when a majority of the company CEO’s were available, never mind sleep patterns and time differences between Sectors. He drew the short end of the stick when it came to conference times though. He didn’t mind normally; but tonight he was coming out of the conference grumpy and edgy.

His body was protesting the long hours of immobility and begging for sleep all at once.

Ignoring the conundrum of conflicting signals, Ianto pressed his thumb into the security device on his office door. The device chirped acceptance and the carved IronOak clicked open.

Ianto slipped inside and stood for a moment, debating the merits of letting himself nap for ten minutes before seeing to the reports accumulated on his terminal or if he ought to buckle down and get them done. Time was money. And he had to capitalize on every nanosecond. 

He opted for a cup of coffee instead of the nap. The drink was his only, and honestly quite expensive, indulgence. But the spicy, too thick caffeine substitute popular in this galaxy didn’t cut it for him. It was an pleasure passed down to him by his father, a man whose love for coffee was surpassed only by his cunning and the love of a ruthless business deal. And his appreciation for fine tailoring.

A small shelf to the side of the room housed a grinder, several bags of beans and a pot; his own personal stash.

Ianto let his mind wander while his hands lost themselves to the ritual he’d mastered during his interning years. There was a soothing rightness to the preparation which he savored. In some ways it was almost as relaxing as the first sip.

168 hours remained until the merger took effect and then Ianto could breathe again. At the moment, the company was a mess of paperwork and preparation, finalizing details and going over contracts with a fine-tooth comb for loopholes. So much could go wrong, especially in these final hours. He wasn’t going to relax until he’d put this one to bed personally. And it wasn’t as though there were anyone he was keeping waiting. His flat had been empty of ‘significant other’ since Lisa had dumped him for better hours and pay at Cybermen Ltd. Her last spiteful message said if he wanted a part-time lover, he should check the street corners after dark.

The coffee was a welcome distraction from his self-destructive train of thought and the nagging voice which told him sleep would be the better alternative to caffeine.

His console pinged. Work wouldn’t wait for when he felt like it. It never stopped and he couldn’t afford to either, not for another 167.8 hours. 

After the beans and coffeemaker were put away, Ianto installed himself behind his desk and began working. After a few hours though, the characters began to blur together and no matter how hard he blinked Ianto couldn’t seem to separate them.

Ianto hated when his body got this way. It wasn’t just protesting the lack of sleep; it was staging a sit-in. This wasn’t…often a problem, but at the moment he couldn’t afford to sleep; because if he closed his eyes he wouldn’t open them again for a week. Once the 164.4 hours were over he could take a personal day…half-day.

Ianto yawned and decided he could use a walk. He had a few hours before the earliest of his secretaries would come in. A few hundred analysts worked in the lower levels during the planets dark hours; only what was needed to keep the network from crashing, but he rarely saw any of them on this floor. He preferred his solitude. True quiet was a rare commodity in this life, perhaps more so than even his coffee beans. Perhaps another reason Lisa decided to leave.

The corridor was dimly lit and utterly silent. The click of his shoes seemed to go on forever, creating its own overlapping rhythm as he walked. It was soothing, repetitive and soothing. He found his mind drifting off even as his body continued to move down the dark hallways.

Maybe a holiday wouldn’t be so bad, Ianto conceded. After the merger he might take a week off to rest. Ianto frowned. Three days was better. Three days and two nights, yes, that was the better option, and he could always bring a few contracts with him to review. He didn’t have to relax the whole time.

Preoccupied as he was, Ianto didn’t hear the soft pad of footsteps behind him. He only felt the jab of the hypodermic needle, the give of punctured skin and then blackness as he crumpled to the ground.

 

.:xXXx:.

 

A cold slap to the face woke him. Ianto opened his eyes and immediately wished he hadn’t. An awful maw full of fangs the size of his index fingers was staring him directly in the face. He recognized the species as Weevil, a semi-intelligent race hired mostly as mercenaries to perform simple kill operations. 

Simple kill operations. Ianto tried to swallow past the dry lump in his throat. It was likely, considering his current predicament, he was the something getting killed, but he couldn’t seem to gather his focus enough to feel panicked about it. His thoughts were muddy and his body was numb and unresponsive. He’d been drugged, it was obvious, but for some reason it took him a great deal of computing power to come up with that answer. It seemed the drugs were also affecting his brain.

The Weevil snarled something that Ianto would have been able to translate if he were operating at full capacity and jerked him upright. Ianto found it somewhat disconcerting that he was not even remotely standing on his own power, but only in a distant, cloudy portion of his brain which was reemerging very slowly.

His head flopped forward as the Weevil dragged him up and out of a confined space, likely where he’d been kept for the duration of his stupor. He did notice a few other figures in his periphery, but was distracted from further investigation when the Weevil dropped him unceremoniously onto cold, wet, hard pavement.

He grunted as pain blossomed deep in his right shoulder and the aliens surrounding him laughed unpleasantly. His head was tilted enough to see them; four creatures in total. The Weevil was standing back, shutting the cargo compartment of a nondescript vehicle. A Trogladite, female from the grey strata in her primarily black, rocklike skin, was arguing with a Shreen male in heavily accented Loddi. Ianto wasn’t fluent and nowhere near his optimal frame of mind, but the throb in his shoulder was doing a good job of clearing his fuzzy thoughts. He caught the words “Kill”, “Where” and “Incinerate” and decided he didn’t like their particular line of conversation. 

It wasn’t so much that he didn’t want to die, or that his sister would miss him all that much, but he decided that being killed in a cold back-alley wasn’t how he wanted to go. And incinerating his body after the business was done was a little bit like overkill. They could have just injected him with any number of toxins and left him in his office, no muss, no fuss.

Ianto frowned as the recovering portion of his mind caught up with the slow, still muddled part and gave it a good solid kick in the pants. He couldn’t die; he was only twenty-five. He had a merger to oversee. 

The realization that the merger was actually his only reason for wanting to continue breathing was interrupted by the approach of his fourth kidnapper. Ianto supposed assassin was a more appropriate term since he wasn’t going to survive this kidnapping. Kidnapper denoted a ransom and the possibility of escape or rescue. This, what was happening to him now, was often referred to as a ‘scoop and shoot’, which, he reasoned, were distinctly less survivable.

He received a second kick from recovering Ianto when the human male pulled a gun from a holster housed under an absurdly large coat which should’ve looked ridiculous, but somehow didn’t. 

The gun itself was interesting as well, almost an antique. Ianto’s eyes slid over the thin barrel and wondered how the man maintained it and where in all the galaxies he even found powder propelled bullets for it, which were more than certainly antique and couldn’t be easy to find or obtain. Old Earth weapons were not cost-effective weapons these days. But since hardly anyone used them anymore, they were pretty hard to trace. They couldn’t be purchased mainstream so their owners, unless they were really stupid, could get past authorities Scott-free. It was a big galaxy. 

The gun cocking brought him back to the present, or at least what little of it he could see stretched out before him. 

Ianto suddenly found, as he lay in the wet and cold, his shoulder screaming dull agony, head pounding from drugs and sleep-deprivation, that he wanted to continue living and not just because of his company or the merger. It was for the plain and simple wish to pull another lungful of dank air into his lungs. A desperate need to survive pushed away the last of the fog clinging to his brain, tugged his eyes up, past the gun barrel pressed to his forehead.

The man’s eyes were blue.

“Please.” His voice was thin and he hated the way it croaked.

The man didn’t respond, but his eyes met Ianto’s and held. It was enough.

“Help me.”

“Jack.” The Trogladite hissed in Galactic Standard. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Jack; the man who was going to kill him and incinerate his body. “Please.”

“What will you give me if I do?”

It took Ianto a moment to realize Jack had spoken in Old Earth English, not Standard. He glanced at the other three kidnappers, but none of them seemed to understand. He replied in English, hoping the aliens couldn’t and that these weren’t his final words.

“Triple what they’re paying you to kill me.”

Jack’s eyebrows rose, but he made no other move.

“Jack.” The Trogladite sounded cautious and her hands had moved to her hips, a few inches from her weapon. “What is he saying?”

“He wants to live.” Jack said, which was the truth, just not all of it. And then the man outright lied. “He’s offering us the codes to his Personal Brokerage Investments.”

The Shreen whistled. Ianto wasn’t surprised. Those codes, if used properly, could pay out billions per annum. Of course he had no intention of giving out those codes. But they didn’t know that.

The Weevil began growling something that sounded distinctly unpleasant. Jack chuckled dourly and barked back a reply in the same gravelly language and suddenly Ianto understood exactly why the Trogladite had reached for her weapon. Being out of the loop in this situation was not at all a pleasant sensation.

“That’s quite the offer.” Jack turned back to Ianto, speaking this time in Standard. “How do we know that you won’t turn us into the authorities ‘if’ we let you go?”

Ianto replied in GS this time, aware that he was bargaining for the deaths of Jack’s companions. But it was him or them and he knew exactly what they would do if, by some bizarre cosmic joke, the situation were reversed. “I can get you a new identity. No one will ever find you.” He made sure to use the verb tense which denoted an earnestness reserved for most religious extremists. He thought it might be selling the bit a little too hard, but this was his life. He couldn’t have Jack thinking he wasn’t 100% serious. “Just get me back to a spaceport and we never have to even think about each other ever again.”

He was pleased to find his speech and thought capacity was returning to normal. Being drugged, he thought, was a singularly disagreeable experience; more con than pro in his estimation.

Jack arched an eyebrow and seemed to mull it over before half shrugging. “Okay.” The man spun so fast Ianto forgot to breath. And then the time seemed to slow and Jack was shooting the Trogladite in the chest. Ianto thought that the round exploded more like a grenade than a bullet and made a mental note to ask about it if he survived this.

The Trogladite gaped at them through the smoke curling out of the hole in her sternum, but Jack wasn’t even looking at her anymore. It was the matter of a moment to dispatch the Shreen who crumpled atop the Trogladite. Three more shots and the Weevil slid to the pavement. Ianto tried not to look into the Weevils’ beady eyes as they glazed over slowly.

That had almost been him. Ianto struggled to feel sorry for the aliens, but couldn’t. They were killers, they’d made their choices long before he crossed their paths. He had no regrets.

“So, triple payment and a new identity to let you go.” Ianto felt hands curl in his once starched shirt and he was hoisted unceremoniously to his feet. “That’s very generous of you, Mr. Jones.”

Annoyingly, Ianto found his neck was still unable to support the weight of his head. His head flopped backwards until he was looking up at a predominantly grey sky. He couldn’t tell if he was staring at atmosphere or one large cloud and decided he didn’t care and then wondered why he was spending so much time thinking about it. 

Distantly the sounds of crowds, shops and steps could be heard. Ianto could tell a few figures were moving past, closer than others, but none seemed overly concerned about the gunshots they’d just heard, the dead bodies or the man who was currently, well, man-handling him.

This was not a world with a well-established constabulary, or at least not an honest one. Where was he?

He tried to tell Jack that he wanted his head upright, but his voice came out a weird gurgle, which he suspected was a product of his necks hyper-extension. Jack seemed to understand anyways because Ianto had free use of his vocal cords on the instant. His head was jerked forward, but couldn’t stop until it impacted with Jack’s shoulder. The fabric of the man’s should’ve-been-stupid-looking coat pressed into his forehead and it was surprisingly soft. He’d seen great-coats like this one in history books and wondered if it was period accurate down to the material since Jack obviously had a thing for antiques. It really was very comfortable; warm and worn in the best ways.

Ianto got a third kick in the pants from recovering Ianto and realized that he was resting his head on the shoulder of an assassin hired to kill him and contemplating how soft the man’s coat was. He needed to get his priorities straight. He reasoned this would be much easier once he got the drugs out of his system. So really, right now was the best time to put his head on the soft shoulder of an assassin formerly hired to kill him. And it really was a soft shoulder.

“Jones.” He was shaken so roughly his head threatened to fall backwards again. He grunted something which sounded like ‘sleep’. It was a little funny, but now that the adrenaline of near-death was wearing off, Ianto felt this profound lethargy curling around every muscle in his body. He, in that moment, wanted nothing more than to lay his head down and rest, never mind recovering Ianto screaming that this was the absolute worst time in his existence to take a nap. His eyelids started to sink down on their own.

“Jones.” Ianto was shaken once more, but it was no use.

His last thought was of the times he’d fallen asleep in the arms of a strange man, this was likely the strangest of all.

 

.:xXXx:.

 

When he woke up, Ianto was lying on a tattered mattress which smelled like mold. He blinked and tested his muscles, gratified to feel arms and legs flex on command. Being a life-sized ragdoll was growing rather tedious, not to mention uncomfortable.

Ianto took stalk of his surroundings. What wasn’t hidden by thick shadows was in danger of falling apart, covered in mold and dust and Ianto had his suspicious about the pile of dark matter congealing in one corner. He was alone, no trace of his kidnapper turned savior to be had. He’d be back, Ianto reasoned, men like that respected money over life. Considering how the amount Ianto’d dangled in front of him, it was a sure bet he’d be close enough to protect his investment.

His shoulder still throbbed fiercely and muddy wisps of sleep-induced fog clung to his brain. He groaned in displeasure and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. It helped a little, but his shoulder still ached fiercely.

“What did they give me?” He shook his head.

“A Codine/THC hybrid they cook up on Riegall 7. I thought it was overkill myself, but Tram wanted to be sure you were out.” 

Ianto looked at the man silhouetted by the doorframe. Jack was still wearing that awful coat. The smile he wore was new. It transformed his face. Jack was what Ianto would, under normal circumstances, describe as a handsome man, but when he smiled… 

Ianto looked away, diverting his attention to the mammoth task of swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress. He chose not to think about which one of the cold corpses had been Tram.

“That stuff takes forever to wear off.” Jack came further into the dark room. Ianto didn’t know whether the smile was still on Jack’s face; his maneuver required all of his attention. “I bet there’s still a little running around your bloodstream.”

“A little.” He conceded with a soft grunt. His muscles were achy and he wondered if that was a result of the drug, the adrenaline, or his kidnappers’ rough treatment of him in transit. It was most likely a combination of all three, but he’d felt worse. He would live.

Jack dumped a bag onto the mattress next to Ianto. The smell of hot food-stuffs wafted over to him and Ianto’s stomach reminded him he hadn’t eaten anything solid in…

He paused, his hand reaching for the bag. “How long have I been asleep?”

Jack seemed to be calculating in his head. “If you’re asking how long you’ve been asleep here: 23 hours. If you want to know how long you’ve been a missing persons, about 39 hours.”

Ianto’s gut turned cold. He’d been missing for 39 hours, maybe more, and a huge buy-out was set to go down in just over five standard planetary rotations. A buy-out he needed to be present to oversee.

Jack must’ve read the panic on his face. “I’ll get you back” His words were confident and a little condescending. “I know your company can’t handle you being out of contact for more than a few hours though, so we’ll have to hurry. The entire empire might be imploding as we speak.”

Ianto ignored the jab and grabbed one of the warm brown puffs from the bag. He studied the strange ball for a moment before Jack sighed heavily and knelt down next to him, reaching for one of his own.

A wave of scent hit Ianto. It did not belong to the food in his hand. It was complex and evasive. Ianto tried to find the words to describe the smell, but just when he felt the appropriate word at the tip of his tongue, the scent would change entirely and yet remain fundamentally similar, spicy, musky; addictive. Ianto recognized the effect of pheromones immediately, and with some surprise. He knew alien species which possessed natural intoxicants and used them shamelessly during negotiations to gain leverage. He glanced at Jack again, out of the corner of his eye. The male appeared to be ‘Of Earth’, but Ianto knew no human processed pheromone glands since they’d been bred out in the 27th century. This meant one of two things. Either Jack had paid for the privilege of smelling nice all the time, or he wasn’t human.

He also wondered why he hadn’t smelled them when he’d practically been mashing his face into the man’s chest. Or perhaps they were released at specific times, or in a specific mood. Or maybe Jack was just fucking with him and was releasing pheromones all on his own.

Meanwhile, Jack must have mistaken Ianto’s extended silence for suspicion about the food because he grabbed the ball from Ianto’s hand and ripped open the confection.

Hot cheese and breadcrumbs connected the halves and then the man jammed the whole messy conglomerate into his mouth. The display was rather crude, but Ianto got the hint: there was nothing wrong with the food. He thought the display rather unnecessary given he was paying the man a considerable amount not to harm him. But a small part of him appreciated the gesture. It proved, at least for the moment, Jack wasn’t planning on killing him and using his carcass for nefarious purposes. Not yet, at least.

Ianto brought his to his mouth and carefully bit into the soft dough. It was surprisingly flavorful; the cheese robust, the bun equally parts crunchy and soft. Jack began chuckling and Ianto realized with a little horror that he was in the process of swallowing his eighth cheese-ball and was halfway finished stuffing his ninth in, whole. He forced himself to bite the confection in two and chew slowly, Jack’s quiet laughter still ringing in his ears. It was a pleasant enough laugh, he supposed. It sounded better than growled threats anyway.

Ianto swallowed and glanced at the other man who was busy with his half of the meal. “When are we leaving?”

Jack grunted. “Whenever you’re finished, Princess.”

Ianto arched an eyebrow but otherwise occupied himself with his now buttery fingers, or at least the alien equivalent to it. “Well I’m finished, so take me home. I assume you have some sort of ship?”

The other man wiggled his eyebrows, wiping his own greasy fingers on a cloth produced from one of the many pockets of that awful coat. “All I needed to do was buy you a little dinner and the great Ianto Jones is ready to take me home? I’m…” The last word was a purr. “…thrilled.”

Ianto rolled his eyes and stood, dusting the accumulated breadcrumbs onto the damp floor. He noted with some pleasure his legs were much more steady. Perhaps the food had helped.

Jack was chuckling again. Obviously he’d impressed himself. 

Ianto began looking for a mirror, or a window that wasn’t completely smashed. He had to settle for a basin of mostly clean water he couldn’t imagine belonged to whomever formerly resided in the house and made a mental note to be a little less terse with Jack the next time he was a moron as thanks. 

He felt a little better once he’d splashed his face and combed his hair with his fingers. He studied himself in the rippling water and shrugged. He would never go into the office looking so unkempt, but it could be worse.

He turned to see Jack once again framed in the doorway and unabashedly appraising him. The man’s voice, however, was annoyed. “You’re the one who wants to get back so badly, Princess.”

Ianto was getting very tired of biting his tongue. He flicked water from his face as best he could with his fingers and stalked past the mercenary. Jack was cashing his thank-you in early then. “Fine, then. Let’s go.”

Behind him, Jack started chuckling again. “Lose that pretentious strut, Princess. It’s a little less than subtle.”

“You’re a little less than subtle.” Ianto muttered under his breath, but did his best to ‘lose the strut’. He wasn’t a stupid man; no matter how aggravating Jack was. He tried for ‘cowed trudge’ and when Jack didn’t comment, he figured he wasn’t doing too badly.

They emerged from the apartment and into bustling street. The buildings, as far as Ianto could see, all looked like the one they’d stayed in: moldering and dated. Jack took the lead, cutting a swath through the dichotomy of alien creatures effortlessly. Ianto followed discreetly, trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible.

“Where are we?” He asked Jack. He wasn’t unfamiliar with melting-pot planets, but he’d thought slums like this were extinct. Even if someone was poor, there was Sector housing. Why would someone live in this condition?

“We’re in Sector Seven.” Jack said. “This is the Armoni housing district on Pflavin 3.”

Ianto nodded, but made no comment. He was a good half a standard cycle away from safety. The slum was concerning, but it was also none of his business. He had very little say in how other sentient beings chose to live their lives or how governments chose to support their citizens; no matter how confounding.

The spaceport matched its surroundings: hulking, ancient and on the verge of collapse. 

Jack led them past the various hangers and bays. Some were reserved for cargo; a maintenance drone spun polish onto a bare stone floor. Here and there, alien’s argued in various languages about fees or craft size or cargo quality. Most were filled with ships so heavily patch-worked and modified, their original design was indistinguishable. 

They turned into a small hanger. The ship inside looked respectable enough; at least, it looked like it would be able to actually exit the atmosphere without disintegrating.

A large creature loomed out of the loading ramp. Ianto froze and watched as Jack walked right up and greeted the alien.

“Come on, Princess.” Jack called. “He’s not going to wait around forever.”

Ianto eyed the alien warily, but approached. The creature was an Ort, an arguably intelligent race of semi humans covered from head to toe in various shades of red fur. This Ort was colored dark crimson and sported arms as thick as Ianto’s chest.

“Jornim.” The Ort spread his meaty hands wide and enveloped Jack in a hug not unusual for the tactile race.

It took Ianto a moment to realize the Ort had spoken to Jack and what he’d said. Ianto wasn’t an expert on Ortitian culture, but he knew Jornim was some sort of pet-name, which were normally given to individuals with which one has been intimate. 

Ianto shuddered and tried to bleach the image of Jack and the Ort tangled together from his mind.

“Who is this?” The Ort turned towards Ianto. Ianto kept his face straight as he was inspected. He suspected he looked odd in his once pristine suit, jacket and tie MIA, shoes scuffed almost beyond salvaging; nothing like Jack, in his awful, attractive, coat.

“This is my partner,” Jack thankfully used the ‘business’ tense in his sentence. Ianto wasn’t sure how he would’ve felt about any of the other options. “Kren.”

The Ort nodded in its overly exaggerated way, but did not embrace Ianto. Ianto wasn’t displeased about the fact Jack’s arrival had merited an embrace in greeting and his did not.

“Partner.” The Ort repeated. “I thought you were running with a gang nowadays. What happened to them?”

Jack didn’t bat an eyelash. “We wanted different things. They went their way, and I went mine.”

“Ah.” Another exaggerated head-nod. “Come in. I’m going to do the final flight-check. Go strap in and we’ll be ready to go soon.”

Ianto followed Jack inside the modified space-craft. It was deceptively spacious inside. Lavatory, two doors leading to separate living quarters, and an impossibly small kitchen was stuffed into one corner of the ships’ lounge. It looked unused.

“Here.” They stepped into the cockpit and Jack indicated a chair behind the captain and co-pilot. “You can sit here. I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” Ianto didn’t conceal the distrust in his voice. Jack didn’t seem bothered. The man smiled and leaned in until Ianto could smell the man’s pheromones.

“I’m going to help our captain.” Jack said. “Make sure we get off the ground.”

“I thought this was your ship. You led me to believe you had a ship.”

Jack snorted and backed off. “You led yourself to believe whatever you wanted. I never said I had a ship.”

“Who is the Ort?” Ianto asked finally. “Is he another one of your ‘business partners’?”

Jack glanced at Ianto, his gaze unreadable. “I hired him to take us to Sector Three.”

“What’s in Sector Three?”

“Stuff.” Jack turned back to the hall.

“What kind of stuff?”

Jack kept walking. Ianto followed to the hatchway. His mouth was out of control. Questions kept bubbling up and spilling out of him. He was losing his composer and at the moment, he wasn’t sure he wanted it back. “What happens after we get to Sector Three, Jack? What happens to the Ort?” Is it going to wind up like your other partners? Am I? Are you going to trade me for a better deal down the road? How much can I trust I’m not going to end up like them? 

Jack spun so quickly it almost stole his breath. “If you have something to say to me, just say it.” The man’s stare was incredible, so intense it almost hurt physically.

Ianto didn’t flinch. Jack wanted blunt. He could do blunt. “What happened to your partners?”

Jack’s eyes didn’t flicker. “You know what happened to them.”

Ianto shook his head. “What happened to them, Jack? You didn’t just leave them…”

Jack turned away. He didn’t speak for long moments. When he did, his voice was gruff and pitched low, probably to keep someone from overhearing. “Do you know what the best part of incineration is?” He answered his own question. “It really makes identification hard. If you pick out the big chunks, you can’t really tell a Weevil from say, the CEO of a major business conglomerate.”

Ianto tried to respond. His jaw worked, but he couldn’t make words form, it was too much to process.

Jack arched an eyebrow. Ianto didn’t know what expression he was wearing. He wasn’t sure if he was horrified or grateful.

Whatever Jack saw he didn’t comment. The man turned back down the corridor and disappeared.

 

.:xXXx:.

 

“Flight 07118, requesting permission to depart.”

“Flight 07118, you are go for departure. Venting atmosphere, make sure all compartments and or force fields are properly activated. Maintenance fees will be levied if your heads explode.”

“Understood.” The Ort signed out, flicking switches with surprising dexterity.

“He sounded pleasant.” Ianto tried to sound nonchalant, but he was a little leery of his head exploding. This wasn’t the standard of interstellar travel he was used to. His business trips served alcohol and weren’t under the constant threat of sudden cabin depressurization. 

The ship groaned in protest as it rose in the air and Ianto swallowed his nerves.

Jack was in the co-pilots’ seat, a position which seemed to rankle. The man would fidget with what controls he could reach until the Ort told him to stop. Jack would just smile and make a joke about just being a good co-pilot, but Ianto saw the smile turn sour at the edges the instant the Ort’s back was turned. It seemed to Ianto, for all he really knew of the man, Jack was the type of man who preferred to be in charge, in control.

The ship eased out of the port and into the planet’s upper atmosphere. It shook so hard, Ianto was afraid the bolts would shake out of their housings. The ride smoothed out after they exited the Thermosphere and entered open space.

After entering coordinates in the auto-pilot, the Ort said it was alright for them to unbuckle. Ianto breathed what he hoped was a quiet sigh of relief and vowed to only fly privately chartered transports when he got back. Not that he ever flew anything less, but that take-off cemented the decision in his mind.

“Come on.” Jack was already out of his seat, stretching like he’d been strapped to the unforgiving chair for hours not minutes. Ianto ignored the mouthwatering display of taut torso beneath ridiculous suspenders and shirt, and began unbuckling.

“Where is it that you think I’m going?”

“It’s a long way to Sector Three, Princess.” Jack shrugged. “You can stay there if you want.” And then the man left, the Ort, after a warning not to touch the controls, followed.

Ianto unbuckled. He debated whether saving his pride and sitting in his seat for the whole trip would be worth the utter boredom.

He started through the narrow corridor towards the rec room. He heard them talking before he got half-way to them, thank heavens.

The Ort said something he couldn’t make out, but Jack laughed and said. “Darling, he’s just a business associate.”

So they were talking about him. Ianto took a few steps closer towards the mouth of the hall. He could make out the couch and one of the Ort’s big thighs and Jack’s boots stretched out in front of him.

The Ort sniffed. “I didn’t know pretty boys were your taste now.”

“I have a broad taste.” Jack said casually. “You knew that ten cycles ago, when we started fucking.”

So his suspicious were correct. Ianto felt no great satisfaction from that revelation.

Jack wasn’t finished. “Look, I’m not fucking him. He really is just a business partner. Can I help it if I want some eye candy for the long flights?”

Ianto heard some shuffling from the direction of the couch and Jack’s boots disappeared. This time when Jack spoke, it was in a tone Ianto had never heard before. It was slow and husky, with obvious intent.

“He may be pretty, Isret, but he can’t reem my ass like you can. No creature in the galaxy can.”

It was the Ort’s turn to chuckle and then Jack started groaning and Ianto felt his face grow hot. As their noises grew louder, Ianto decided he really didn’t need to be social and the cockpit sounded very pleasant. He backed up the dozen steps to the door and shut it as quietly as he could behind himself.

Thankfully, it blocked most of their groans. Every so often, Jack would let out a shout that was half ‘yes’, half yelp. Ianto really didn’t want to speculate.

It was fairly obvious they didn’t care if he could hear. Which was aggravating, but there was nothing to be done for the moment.

He moved to the Captains’ chair and stared out the viewport.

It wasn’t a bad view, as far as views went. The blurred lines of hyperspace were hypnotic. Ianto couldn’t remember the last time he’d just sat and stared at something. He usually had too much to do; he still did, technically, but he couldn’t access his private messages from here, so it was sort of a moot point.

He glanced down at the chronometer set into the control console. If he was at Capitol right now he would be knee deep in brokerage investment reports and on his third cup of coffee.

A flashing light caught Ianto’s eye. A small terminal to the side was blinking red.

Ianto wasn’t an expert in ship mechanics, but he had a license and owned his fair share. The module looked like a standard communications terminal; one holding a stored message.

Curiosity perked up its head and poked him. Ianto shook his head and went back to watching stars streak past. But the niggling sensation refused to let him alone.

Who left messages? Parents, siblings, spouses, children, business partners, any of them could have left a message for the Ort. But he hadn’t noticed the light flashing before lift-off and no one had called in the time between that he could remember, and if there was one thing of which Ianto was certain, it was his memory.

So someone had contacted the Ort when they were jumping to hyperspace. But then, why wasn’t the ship alerted to an incoming transmission?

“Four hours. You really are pig-headed.”

Ianto glanced up at Jack and then went back to star-gazing. He hadn’t realized it’d been that long. “Pardon, but I didn’t feel like interrupting your reunion.”

“Jealous, princess?” Jack flirted casually, leaning against the nearby seat. “You should’ve joined in. I beats staying in here the whole flight.”

“Thank you for my share of the favor, however I have no intention of leaving.”

Jack’s response was a half-chuckle. Ianto thought he detected a touch of annoyance under the quiet laughter. He decided it would be best not to continue pushing Jack. He rather liked breathing and pissing off a man like Jack was not the way to keep his autonomic functions…well, functioning.

“Look, this probably isn’t the best place to hang out. You’re making our captain nervous.”

“I assure you, the feeling is mutual.” Ianto whispered. “Did you see him receive any comm. traffic after takeoff?”

Jack frowned. His blue eyes flickered to the blinking communications terminal. “No.” His voice was low, wary. “I didn’t.”

So he had been right. Ianto wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or terrified. “So, what does that mean?”

Jack moved gingerly over to him, leaning over and hunching over the comm. terminal.

“Jack?” Ianto whispered. The man didn’t even pause to look at him.

A moment later the terminal chirped and the light stopped blinking.

“What-?”

Jack held up a hand for silence as the auto-replay kicked on. A single droning tone filled the cabin for two seconds and then the terminal, finished playback, returned to blinking stand-by mode.

Ianto was confused. Was that the message?

Jack, however, was bent back over the comm. terminal and cursing. “What’s wrong? What was that?”

“It’s a short-burst transmission.”

“Short-burst…what?”

“Short-burst transmission. A prerecorded message compressed and shot to a targeted array to be decompiled later.”

“Why would someone do that?” Ianto asked.

“It’s virtually impossible to detect and actually impossible to intercept.” Jack’s fingers flew over the keys. “It’s an old trick used by smugglers, pirates and…”

“And?” Ianto pressed.

“Bounty hunters.” Ianto and Jack whirled. The Ort stood, pistol gripped in one meaty hand. A wide grin split his normally stupid face.

“I was wondering when you’d show up.” Jack leaned back against the control panel. “What gave me away?”

“Please.” The Ort snorted. “Word all over the Sector was your team was going after a big fish. Then Jack Harkness turns up minus his squad, towing a fresh piece of eye candy. I’m not stupid”

“So.” Jack stretched, far too relaxed in Ianto’s opinion, given their current predicament. “What happens now?”

“Well, we should be exiting hyperspace in a few minutes. I’ve arranged for a few of my friends to take you off my hands.”

“Bounty Hunters.” Jack said.

“Entrepreneurs of the Humanities.” The Ort corrected.

“Whatever.” Jack shrugged. “How long do we have until you're friends come to cart us away?”

The large alien chuckled. “Five minutes until we exit Hyperspace.”

Ianto swallowed. Jack nodded as if that was the answer he expected.

“That should be just about right.”

The Ort opened his mouth and Jack pounced. Ianto would, for many years, question the sanity of attacking an armed alien twice your size. But right then, he was already stumbling through the hatch after Jack.

The two brawled down the corridor and into the Rec. room. Somewhere in the initial charge, Jack had knocked the Ort’s blaster out of his hand. Ianto picked it up and tried to aim it at the Ort, but Jack and the alien were fighting close. He realized he couldn’t shoot one without hitting the other.

Unless he wanted to hit them both. The thought ricocheted around Ianto’s brain. It was so simple, so mercenary, and brilliant. He could kill them both, redirect the ships’ hyperspace route and be back in his office before the trading floor opened.

Except, he couldn’t do it. The trigger felt cold against his finger. He felt repulsed with himself. How could he even consider such an option? He was better than that. He was better than the Ort, better than Jack. He’d made a bargain and he would stick to that bargain; because he was Ianto Jones, but more than that, because he was a decent human being. And if they wound up dead, or rotting in the belly of some slaver ship, he’d probably curse himself, but that was later. Right now he had to live with himself.

Jack managed to land a punch the next instant which staggered the Ort. The creature stumbled backwards and through another corridor and out of Ianto’s line of sight. 

Jack bounded after him, leaving Ianto alone.

A warning ping from the cockpit signaled their exit from Hyperspace. The ship trembled as it reemerged into normal space.

They were running out of time.

Ianto sprinted down the hall Jack and the Ort disappeared, following the grunts and smacks of meaty fists on flesh.

“Jack.” He shouted. “We’ve just exited Hyperspace.”

“Thanks, Princess.” The mercenary ducked just in time to miss being decapitated by a nasty right hook. The bulkhead groaned in protest as it received the blow intended for Jack’s head. “Wouldn’t have figured that out without you.”

Ianto was suddenly fighting the urge to shoot the man in his unprotected rump despite his earlier decision.

The Ort managed to grab a hold of Jack’s stupid coat. With a bellow the alien tossed Jack against the far bulkhead. Jack flopped to the deck plates, gasping, trying desperately to pull air back into his lungs.

The Ort stalked towards the fallen man.

“Stop.” Ianto held the gun up, pointed straight at the Ort’s back. “Surrender.”

The Ort glanced over his shoulder and chuckled. “What are you going to do with that?”

Ianto gripped the gun tighter. “Well, I was planning on shooting you if you refused to surrender.”

The Ort laughed again. “Human, my friends are going to be here any minute. Even if you shoot me, there’s no way in all the galaxies you’re going to escape them.”

“Maybe.” Ianto put on his trade face, the one he used on the most suborn cliental, and hoped upon hope the Ort didn’t call his bluff. “But then you’d be just as dead, wouldn’t you?”

The Ort stopped and peered carefully at him. And then he did the very last thing Ianto expected. He charged.

Ianto backpedaled quickly, trying to sight in a target. His foot caught the edge of a hatch seal and he went down on the hard deck. The next instant, pain erupted along his jaw. He knew in the back of his mind, the portion not jarred loose by agony, the Ort had hit him and somehow, he’d pulled the trigger.

The smell of roasting meat filled his muddled brain and Ianto struggled against the spinning, trying to figure out which way was up.

His vision was blurry, but through the haze of smudged images Ianto could make out the Ort stalking back over to Jack’s still prone form; Ianto's gun in his meaty fist.

He pressed himself upright, holding onto the bulkhead for all he was worth. It was almost all he could do to keep his feet. He knew he had very little time, seconds in the worst case. Whatever it was he was going to do, he had to do it quickly.

His hand caught on the edge of some metal box welded to the wall. He hissed in pain and tried to identify the source of the cut. It was the airlock release.

Ianto didn’t take the time to contemplate what he was doing. He grabbed the emergency rail, pressed the big red button in the center of the box and yelled. “Jack, grab onto something.”

In an instant the world became a cold rush of air roaring past his ears. Shapes flew by into the screaming void, objects rattled against their bolts and clamps. Invisible hands were tearing at his face and clothing, trying to pry his fingers from the rail.

It wasn’t until Ianto’s lungs were screaming for air that he pressed the button again. By the time the room had re-pressurized, large black dots were swimming in front of his eyes. He released the bar with numb fingers and sank to his knees, fighting to keep his head from dropping to the deck-plates, the blow he’d already taken to the chin wasn’t helping.

A hand settled on his shoulder and gave him a shake. He groaned.

“Easy, Princess.” Jack’s voice was full of humor. “You’ve had a big day.”

“I’m not…a princess.” Ianto managed between shallow breaths.

Jack just chuckled. It was a sort of pleasant sound, Ianto supposed. If one could get past the moron it belonged to. “Maybe not.”

Ianto blinked blearily at the almost compliment for an instant before the deck heaved under him. That was when he remembered. “Jack, the pirates.” But the awful coat was already racing down the hallway, back towards the cockpit.

Ianto pushed himself up despite his protesting lungs and cloudy vision and stumbled after him. The deck continued to heave and pitch, but with a rhythm that meant Jack was now manning the controls.

He managed to hit the chair as a second jarring impact hit the ship. “What was that?”

“That,” Jack’s face was grim. “Was a direct hit from a particle beam cannon.”

Ianto didn’t think that sounded very healthy for the ship, or them. A diagram of the ship flashed on the console. A few parts were yellow and several red, but thankfully, green was predominant. “But, why are they firing at us? Don’t they want us alive?”

“Alive, Dead, it doesn’t matter all that much in the world of bounty hunting.” Jack said, avoiding a spray of vivid green. “A few thousand credits one way or the other. As long as they have proof we’re dead, that’s what counts.” He glanced at Ianto. “They probably saw you space Ort-boy back there and decided capturing us alive wasn’t worth the hassle.”

“Oh,” Ianto strapped himself in as green washed over the view screen. Jack swore and the diagram of the ship blinked from green to red.

“Another hit like that and we’re done.”

“Thanks, I could’ve figured that out on my own, Harkness.” Ianto snapped. “Now, you need to figure out what we’re going to do before that happens because I want to live long enough to pay you that ridiculous amount of money.”

Jack snarled something unflattering in Loddi and jerked the controls hard to port. He piloted with one hand while the other sped over buttons in a configuration Ianto didn’t recognize. Suddenly the display changed. Everything from stem to stern turned black. Everything but the forward shields, which were brilliant green.

As the pirate ship came into view, Ianto suddenly understood what Jack was doing.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no.” He reached for the controls, but Jack gunned the throttle, and Ianto was flung back into his seat.

“You wanted me to do something, Princess? Well, this is me doing something.”

The pirate’s ship grew at an alarming rate. Its captain must have realized exactly what Ianto did, because the particle beams were coming fast and furious now. The forward port was taking shot after shot, startlingly only a fraction of the oncoming particle fire. Jack’s surprisingly adept flying skills were keeping them in this bizarre game of space-chicken.

They spun closer and closer. The pirate ship filled the viewport. There was no turning back. They were going to hit. Ianto closed his eyes and wished he’d never laid eyes on Jack Harkness, been taken from his office; he was sorry he decided to stay late and look over reports. 

In retrospect, incineration didn’t seem like such a bad way to die.

The ship rocked and pitched. Sirens began shrieking while the hull continued to tremble. Beside him, Jack swore. And then everything went silent.

Ianto opened his eyes just in time to see the blur of hyperspace through the viewport before everything went to Hell. Red emergency lights flashed and buzzers wailed. Jack was grabbing his shoulder, trying to say something to him, but his voice was lost in the cacophony of warning signals.

Fissures began to appear along the ceiling, inching towards the viewport. Ice crystals began to form around the edges of the cracks.

Ianto felt the bite of cold the instant before the breath was stolen from his lungs. They’d lost atmosphere in the cabin.

Ianto had just enough time to glare over at Jack before the blackness filled his vision.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello to you.  
> Thanks for deciding to spend your time with me and my two sexy boys.  
> This story's going to be in two or three parts, just for your information.  
> Send me a comment or a Kudo if you think to. Feedback is my fuel.  
> Thanks again.  
> See you next time.
> 
> S.


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